


I Think My Nanny had Demon Eyes

by InksandPens



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Gravity Falls
Genre: Mystery Twins, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Weirdmageddon, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Stan can swear for real, Teenage Dipper Pines, Teenage Mabel Pines, graphic depictions of bookshops, the timeline's wibbly wobbly because I needed the kids to be the same age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-07-19 06:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InksandPens/pseuds/InksandPens
Summary: When the Pines get word of past machinations by a familiar enemy, they'll journey far to untangle his motivations, and do their best to help the poor souls caught up in the mess.Meanwhile, an angel and a demon are actually doing alright for once.





	1. In Which Pacifica Gets What She Wants and Almost Immediately Regrets It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_WritersBlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_WritersBlock/gifts).



“Your parents let you have champagne?”

Pacifica turned to the dark-haired boy with her brightest I-am-a-privileged-rich-girl smile, then held out her fluted glass, tilted in his direction like an alm. He stared at it a moment, then at her, then grinned and stole a quick sip. The grin stole off his face just as quickly. “That’s just ginger ale.”

She leaned in slightly, tilting her head. “ _They_ don’t need to know that. Who are you stealing a lady’s drink anyway?”

He blinked, eyes darting between hers and the soft drink like he was missing something, before straightening into the formal-introduction-pose that children of their upbringing all seemed to have. “Warlock Dowling. And you?”

Well, at least he hadn’t rattled off his family’s business history. Come to think of it, she didn’t remember ever hearing her parents use the name. Maybe this evening wouldn’t be horrible. “Pacifica Northwest.”

“Who names their kid Pacifica?”

“Who names theirs Warlock?”

Instead of looking offended, he just shrugged and leaned against the wall, looking out at the other guests. Pacifica sipped at her ginger ale. The party continued around them.

“I’m from England,” he said. “I mean, my parents are American, but that’s where we live.”

She nodded. She had wondered about the accent. “I’m from a small town in Oregon. You probably haven’t heard of it.”

“Tell me anyway. I’m bored.”

Admittedly, she was a little thrown by the blatancy of that, but, well. Who was she to complain about a fellow society kid getting fed up with fancy graces? “Gravity Falls. Really woodsy, lots of pine trees. It’s…got a local flavor that’s kinda hard to explain when you’ve lived there your whole life.”

She took another sip, wondering what else she could say that wouldn’t sound weird to someone who hadn’t experienced what a Gravity Falls resident considered 'standard.' “I mean, I haven’t been to many other small towns, but I imagine it has what every small town has. Mini golf, laser tag, that one breakfast place where the food isn’t great but all the servers know your name, a localized history museum with some probably-fake dinosaur skeletons, you know.”

“Yeah. Dinosaurs aren’t real.”

Pacifica stared at him, recalling the very-real and very-loud lizard that had torn apart more than a few flying eyeballs despite still technically being trapped in amber. “I mean, they put the skeletons together the wrong way sometimes, but that’s not the same as them _not existing_.”

“They _don’t_ ,” he maintained, thought he didn’t look like he expected to be believed. “My nanny said so.”

“And you believe something your nanny told you over thousands of textbooks and archaeological digs?”

“Yeah. So what if she said some weird stuff? She was _great_.”

Oops, he was getting upset. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just surprised, is all.”

He shrugged again. She took another sip. He stuck his hands in his pockets, looking toward a woman by the fondue table like he hoped she’s catch him at it.

Good grief, this was boring. She almost wished a dinosaur _would_ come charging through the ballroom doors, and not even just to see Warlock’s reaction. She’d gotten too used to Gravity Falls 'standard.' “Did your nanny tell you other weird stuff?”

“I guess. I mean, she told me I’d rule the world one day. She’d talk about me striking down my enemies. And that would’ve made sense if I was getting bullied or something, but I wasn’t. It was just stuff she said. She mentioned blood and fire a lot, too, for someone looking after a kid.” He winced. “You know, I never thought about it at the time. She used to sing me lullabies and they were all about evil and death and me being at the top of everything.”

“How’s your conquest gone so far?” Pacifica was grinning. The dark stuff wasn’t really her cup of tea, but _finally, something weird_.

He shrugged again, but he had an easy smile now. “Eh, if it happens, it happens. Before I go about commanding the legions of hell, though, I’d like to get in contact with her again.”

Pacifica took another sip. “Well, if you miss her that much, she can’t have been a bad nanny, no matter what strange stuff she might’ve said.”

He nodded. “I don’t have any bad memories of her. Some strange ones, though, and not even just stuff she said to me. She really wasn’t fond of the gardener, and I could never figure out why. They never acted like they _hated_ each other, but she was always saying ‘don’t you listen to him, listen to _me_ ,’ and then he’d go and say the same about her. And it’d always be over really dull things, too. And you know she dressed like _Mary Poppins_? I’m serious, she had the bird on her umbrella and everything! She never wore bright colors though. Imagine a gothic Mary Poppins. Like that.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t know back then that most nannys don’t dress like that anymore. Or anyone. Finding that out was even stranger when I remembered that she used to wear sunglasses all the time. I mean, grownups will complain about kids doing that, but there my _nanny_ went and did it! Everywhere we went, and in the house and at night too! She had ever since I could remember, so I never asked about them, and she never came out and said either. I think maybe something was wrong with her eyes. I don’t think she was blind, but I got a look at them the few times she pulled them off and they were kinda yellow. Strange pupils, too. Long and narrow, like a cat. Or maybe a snake.”

Pacifica stalled in the middle of another sip.

“And I’ve tried asking mum and dad since then, but they weren’t around very much and honestly, I don’t think they even noticed anything strange, which, I mean, I didn’t _either_ , but they were _adults_!”

“Yellow eyes?”

Warlock started, turning away from the empty space in front of him that he’d been speaking at. “Yeah,” he frowned.

“Slits for pupils?”

He nodded. “You know what causes that?”

She shook her head slowly, worrying at her lip. “You said she would talk a lot about…fire and blood and the end of the world?”

“Well, more me _ruling_ the world, but yeah, the end came up sometimes.”

“What was her name?”

He pursed his lips, entirely too calm. “I always just called her Nanny. I think it was something like Ashtoreth, though. Hey, are you alright? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” Pacifica lied, carefully tightening her grip around her fluted champagne glass full of ginger ale, so she didn’t do something alarming like drop it. “Maybe I shouldn’t have tried the champagne though.”

“It’s just ginger ale,” he retorted, but took her glass anyway when she held it out. “And people get red when they’re drunk, not pale.”

“Well, feel free to finish mine,” she huffed. “I’m _obviously_ very drunk and since I’m too young for that I need to run to the restroom right now.”

He recoiled a little bit, and a small part of her felt bad for snapping, but it was mostly eclipsed by panic. “Alright. See you around, I guess.”

“Look me up after the party!” She called over her shoulder. Not exactly a polite farewell, but at the moment she hardly cared, and she didn’t actually want to lose contact. But she needed to get away from the other guests. _Right now_.

* * *

Once she had found the restroom and made sure nobody else was inside, she pulled her phone out of her clutch and dialed a familiar number.

“Dipper! Yeah, no, I’m still at the party, but…um, okay, I was talking to this guy and-…what, _no_ , nothing like that, it’s just-…Dipper _listen_! This might be important. Actually, could you get Mabel too? …Hi, no, it’s been bad. Well, boring, but that’s not why I called. You’re not gonna like this, but…okay, just, I don’t know how else to say this, so I’m just gonna start it, and I’m _so sorry_ for bringing it up, but…well.

“I need you to tell me if any of this sounds like Bill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *looks at Crowley's eyes*  
> Me: *looks at Bill's possession eyes*  
> Me: Oh, what a wonderful opportunity for some horrible misunderstandings.


	2. In Which Reunions Are Had and Anxiety is Implied

“I know I’m the one who brought it up, but are you sure we’re not jumping the gun here?”

“Aw, c’mon Pacifica, at least wait ‘till we’re not in the middle of a hug.”

The blonde sighed but relented, relaxing into Mabel’s embrace and even allowing herself a small smile. It was almost enough to banish Dipper’s worries.

“And it’s not like we think Bill is actually back,” he said as the girls separated. A self-assurance, as much as a clarification for Pacifica’s sake. “The statue’s still where we left it, and it doesn’t look any different, aside from having a bit more moss. We just want to figure out why he spent so much time raising this Warlock guy. Ostensibly raising.” He grimaced. “It’s a really hard concept to visualize, actually. Bill with a _kid_. He didn’t mention, um.” He gestured to one arm, where several tiny scars could be seen, all in groups of four. “Anything like that, did he?”

“It was a formal party, he was wearing long sleeves,” Pacifica responded in a tone that suggested she thought him rather slow for not realizing this sooner.

“I mean about the nanny! Did he say anything about walking in on her hurting herself, or...laughing maniacally? Or anything?”

“Oh. No, no bad memories, he said. All the weird stuff was stuff she _said_ to him. Bill said. Whatever. Nothing the nanny ever did, to herself or to him.”

“What are you two dawdling for?! Come _on_ , get inside!”

Dipper and Pacifica turned to find Mabel already making herself at home in the back of a helicopter, waving insistently at them. Honestly, the pilot wasn’t even inside. They had time.

“Off topic, was it just me, or did Stan freak out when he saw us fly in?”

Dipper wore something between a conspiratorial smirk and a sheepish grin. “Last time helicopters showed up at the Shack, he got arrested.”

“He’s gotten arrested before.”

“He was in the middle of something important. And dangerous. Still illegal, but…family stuff.”

Something cleared in Pacifica’s eyes, and she nodded, saying no more.

“I do think he overreacted, though.” Dipper continued. “Seriously, these don’t even look government issue. They’re obviously private.”

“Yeah, don’t go blabbing about this,” the blonde insisted. “I didn’t tell my parents that you guys were the friends I was flying over to the vacation house.”

Mabel had yet to stop waving, so they decided to board, if only for the sake of the poor girl’s arms. She’d already taken Dipper’s duffel along with her own, and ensconced it safely under the seat, which he made sure to thank her for.

“Are both your grunkles coming?” he heard Pacifica ask. “I mean, I don’t really know Ford as well, but I’m not really sure how Stan could help with a Bill thing.”

Dipper thought of the memory gun. He suppressed a shudder.

“Nah, he is coming, but not really because of the Bill stuff,” Mabel replied. “He just wants to be where all his favorite people are!” She beamed. “Also he said something about paying some shady people back now that it’s possible for them to find out he’s still alive, but that’s not as important.”

“How did he even end up in Britain?” Dipper muttered, his incredulity only half-feigned.

“People move, bro. It’s possible they were on this side of the ocean when he first started owing them.” She turned back to Pacifica. “So, tell me about Warlock! You didn’t say very much before, but I kinda got that slick misfit vibe, except without any emo-ness.”

Dipper’s interest in the conversation abruptly abandoned him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no GO-characters yet, sorry. But the next chapter is in England, so they should be popping up soon!


	3. In Which Everyone is Puzzled, Especially Doctor Jones

If Harriet Dowling were to venture into the secondary dining room, she might’ve thought her son was being interrogated by an Indiana Jones enthusiast. She might’ve thought the similar-looking man who stood behind him was some sort of bodyguard from the amount of tension he held himself with, no matter his age or casual manner of dress. She might’ve dismissed the three other children as Warlock’s friends, possibly with a minor spark of recognition regarding the blonde one, before interrupting the proceedings in an effort to demand an explanation.

Fortunately for everyone involved, Harriet Dowling was not to venture into the secondary dining room that morning.

The Indiana Jones enthusiast spoke momentarily. “I have to be honest; I’m having a hard time seeing what Bill found worth his time here.”

“But we agree that it all matches up, right?” one of the other children piped up, the one who looked ready to hike up a mountain. “The eyes, the monologues about destruction?”

“But there’s so many differences too,” Indi responded. “I’d almost call this method understated, and that really wasn’t Bill’s style. Even when he still had me fooled, he acted ostentatious.”

“The only time he was ever subtle was if he didn’t want you to know he was there,” mused the one resembling a sitcom’s idea of a summer picnicker. “And looking back, even that wasn’t really subtle. I mean, he didn’t really act like whoever he was possessing, he just didn’t draw attention to any differences.”

“And it’s not like anyone here would’ve known the signs,” the hiker agreed. “Except for the gardener, it sounds like.”

“Warlock, are you positive you never saw your nanny with eyes that weren’t creepy?” The bodyguard spoke up for the first time.

“Never,” responded Warlock, in a way suggesting that he wasn’t quite sure what was going on but was intrigued enough to let it keep happening.

“And how young were you when she started?”

“Young enough to still need bottles.”

“You know about any obscure prophecies?”

“Um, no.”

The bodyguard turned to Indi. “I mean, if you wanna steer a kid in a certain direction, you start ‘em young, that makes sense. But which direction was this supposed to be? You at least made sense,” and here he tapped Indiana Jones on the shoulder. “But he still didn’t contact you until you were established in the Falls. Why this kid, why so early, and why the end of the world?” His hand made a swooping gesture, encompassing the general air of confusion they all held. “And on that note, why as a caretaker? Couldn’t he influence the kid’s dreams?”

Indi sighed. “That’s the other thing I can’t figure out. Why would Bill’s method include long-term possession of some third party? And if the gardener seemed to know something was up, why wasn’t he taken care of somehow?” His frown took on a melancholy edge. “Bill got Fiddleford out of the picture as soon as he could.”

“Just to clarify,” Warlock spoke up, garnering everyone’s attention. “You all think my nanny was…some kind of demon?”

“…we think she was possessed by one,” said the blonde, who looked most at home in the environment, thought not with the topic.

“But…if she was possessed, then it would’ve been the demon who was actually my nanny, wouldn’t it? Not the lady?”

All five guests shuddered, but he received several shrugs and nods.

Warlock bit his lip. “It’s strange to think it might not have really been her, but…” He grinned abruptly. “Cool.”

“Not really.” No one could remember later exactly who had said it.

* * *

"It is, of course, entirely possible that it never was Bill," mused Ford as the five of them departed. "Could there be other dream demons? I don't think I ever asked."

"If it was a dream demon, wouldn't it use, you know, dreams?" Stan frowned. "I know we've all had bad experiences with possession, but if they'd be anything like Bill, then it really doesn't seem like their m.o. Unless they need to affect something physically, and it doesn't seem like that was the goal here."

"What if we did some less Warlock-focused investigating?" Dipper suggested. "Read up on local lore, or something? That might give us more to work with."

"Or maybe we could get Warlock to take us to some of the places his nanny used to take him to visit?" Mabel said, with a sparkle in her eye suggesting that research was not her only motivation. "There's this park that they went to a lot. Maybe that'll tell us something. Uh, maybe it'll jog his memory?" 

They continued in this vein, until they were long out of earshot of anyone in the Dowling estate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discrepancies have been found, but that isn't enough to paint a clear picture yet.


	4. In Which Cafe Tables are Turned

These things, Crowley knew:

  * Armageddon had been averted
  * Neither the host of Heaven nor the legions of Hell had liked that much at all
  * Both sides knew that Crowley and Aziraphale had something to do with the cancellation
  * Both sides had tried to do something about them
  * Both sides had failed
  * Both sides were, resultantly, leaving them alone for the foreseeable future
  * Because of this, both Crowley and Aziraphale were, in a sense, unemployed
  * Meaning that any obligation either felt to carry out any manner of holy or infernal duties was entirely self-motivated and more out of habit than anything
  * Habits could be tough to break



Crowley had told Aziraphale which café he would be heading to, because he knew that if he offered to bring some biscuits back, the angel probably wouldn’t get too curious about why Crowley was there. He had a feeling that wouldn’t have been an issue anyway, since what he was doing could hardly be considered evil (as this particular activity had never gotten him much acclaim from Below), and they’d both done far worse while maintaining the Arrangement. He even suspected that Aziraphale might already have an idea what he was getting up to; he’d been the one to bring up that specific café’s biscuit selection, and the rest of the conversation after that reminded the demon of haggling at marketplaces long past, except his payment was sweets and what he was trying to buy was his right to a little schadenfreude indulgence.

After promising to be back in time for afternoon tea, Crowley finally made it out the bookshop door. The café was close enough to walk, so the Bentley remained parked in front of the shop. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a legal parking spot, but fortunately nobody walking past seemed to even notice the car was there.

* * *

Dipper was nervous. He didn’t say so, oh no, but Mabel could tell.

The Pines Plus Pacifica had agreed to let her take Warlock to the park he’d mentioned by herself, but on the condition that the nerds had something to read while she got to enjoy her 'date.' (Okay, yeah, she was making it a date, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t investigate, too. It’d be like some secret agent thing! An investi-date! Except her date would be in on it, so not as creepy.) So St. James’ had been put off for now.

“But both your grunkles said this didn’t seem like him at all. You’ve told me about the possession, but they’re the ones who had him in their heads.” That was Pacifica. “Shouldn’t we trust them to know what they’re talking about?”

“But what if they’re wrong?” Dipper was fretting. “Stan didn’t actually deal with Bill much until the end, and Ford’s been wrong about him before. What if he is back? And-“ One hand fisted in his hair, under Wendy’s hat. Ooh, this was bad. “-And even if it isn’t him, what if it’s something just like him? Other dream demons?! Why did I never think of that?”

“Dipper.”

“What if this one’s planning something horrible? What if there is an ancient circle or something and Warlock is one of the people involved? What if the nanny knew about it and was trying to warn someone the entire time? Oh man, if her body’s still possessed and her consciousness was at the house trying to warn someone we wouldn’t know!”

Mabel was pretty sure that if the nanny’s consciousness was stuck outside her body, the lady would’ve figured out how to commandeer a sock or something. She’d had several years, and she seemed like a smart lady from what Warlock had said, and Dipper had figured it out in just a few hours despite panicking at the time.

Mabel would’ve said as much, but at the rate her brother was going, he’d probably just answer with something like ‘but she _didn’t_ warn anyone, the demon must’ve killed her after it possessed her body, we’re doomed,’ and Mabel was trying to avoid going down that road. For all their sakes. Mostly Warlock’s, though.

Well, if words wouldn’t distract Dipper, she’d have to find something else that would. Pacifica was doing a decent job getting him to lower his volume and save his detective energies for when they actually found some mysterious books to peer inside of, but that wouldn’t necessarily improve his mood.

It wasn’t a bad day. Mabel had heard that weather in England could be gloomy, but today hadn’t been too drastic. Not as warm as Gravity Falls or Piedmont would’ve been, but it wasn’t raining or cold. The people weaving around them seemed equally comfortable in short or long sleeves, and she, at any rate, had yet to regret continuing her sweater streak. The air was a pleasant buzz of birds, car motors, strolling footsteps, and half-heard cell phone conversations. All the buildings were squished together like scrapbook entries, showing off wood and stonework proudly despite the cloud-spotted sky.

None of that would help, would it. Pensive, Mabel pouted at the sidewalk, allowing herself to fall behind the other two as she thought. Absently, she bent down to pick up a stray coin.

It didn’t budge. Frowning, Mabel came to a full stop and tried again. Her fingers could barely keep a grip around the edge. She was debating the merits of trying to wedge a fingernail underneath when she heard her name.

“Mabel? Are you alright?”

Mabel glanced up. Pacifica, noticing her absence, had stopped a little way ahead, Dipper turning as he too realized his sister was no longer with them.

And then Mabel got an idea.

* * *

In Crowley’s experience, the coin prank usually got enough traffic to be worth a few hours of mildly wicked satisfaction.

If he was to keep the car metaphor going, then what he was looking at now seemed more akin to a pileup.

The first girl had called what looked like her brother back to help her, alright.

The boy and the blonde had each tried, and failed, par for the course.

The boy had pulled a magnifying glass out of a pocket and started examining the coin underneath it, unusual, but okay.

The blonde had emptied a bit of a water bottle over the coin, and now the first girl was poking it with what appeared to be a knitting needle while the boy screwed his face up in much more thought than Crowley figured was warranted over the situation.

By this point, foot traffic was moving in a steady stream around them, and the other café patrons were only pretending not to notice the ruckus.

Because it had evolved into a genuine ruckus. The kids were _grandstanding_ , there was no other word for it. 

It was about the moment where the boy started shouting about cracking the concrete _around_ the coin to dislodge it and demanding a rubber mallet from the air around them while the blonde murmured in faux awe about the eighth wonder of the world and the sister pulled out her phone and started taking selfies with the offending currency, that Crowley realized he’d lost whatever tenuous control he’d had over the situation. 

* * *

When Ford heard his brother’s phone ring, he drew himself out of his thoughts, though one wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him. Stanley had been rather tight-lipped about his own business here, and despite his distance regarding anything to do with his twin’s years on his own before the portal incident, Ford couldn’t help but try to figure out what was going on.

“What are you gremlins snickering about?”

Oh. Just the kids, then. Ford plunged back into deliberation.

Only for a moment, though, because once his call ended Stanley started waving for his attention. “The kids want me, they said they have a problem only I could solve. Pretty damn gleeful about it, too.”

“Nothing to do with extra-dimensional forces, I take it?” Ford surmised with a small smile. Or the mob, hopefully. Stan waved him off.

As his brother shut the door, Ford almost called out to him to stop, to say that Stanley didn’t have to keep…the ‘other stuff’ to himself. That as little as Ford really knew about it, as tangentially as he was related to that whole mess, he wanted to offer Stanley whatever support he could.

But he couldn’t figure out how to word it all, and the latch clicked unimpeded by sentiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a scene I had planned almost from this story's conception, this chapter sure was a struggle. Honestly I don't think I quite hit the mood I was aiming for, but I'm not sure how to really improve it.


	5. In Which Sometimes Less is More

None of the kids actually noticed when exactly Stan arrived. They only knew he had answered their call for aid at all because Dipper happened to look up in the middle of an impassioned delivery on the nature of Puck the mischief fairy and whether struggle to obtain a single coin was Shakespearian enough to merit a more stylistic journal entry, or indeed, mysterious enough to merit a journal entry at all. The boy caught their grunkle sedately approaching them, his eyes in the direction of the café patrons. Dipper wondered briefly if he was trying to hint to them that they were being too loud, but Mabel had darted forward to grab Stan by the hand and tug him toward the coin before anyone’s enthusiasm had time to cool.

“This feels like a trap,” Stan mused gruffly, staring down at the coin. They hadn’t even told him what was going on yet.

“Hey, none of us put it there,” Mabel wheedled, the hurt in her voice obviously faked. Stan scuffed at the coin with one shoe. It yielded no more than any of their previous efforts. He pulled a screwdriver out of a pocked and knelt on the sidewalk, flourishing the tool a few times before setting to work on prying.

Dipper thought he might’ve heard an “oh, for _someone’s_ sake” float over from the direction of the café, but by this point he was too giddy to identify the speaker.

Stan’s frown deepened, brows furrowing. Whatever part of the coin he managed to slip the flathead under was too little real estate to maintain a purchase on when he attempted to lever the coin off the walk. “You didn’t put anyone else up to this, did you?”

“Cross our hearts,” Pacifica vowed, one hand up in mockery.

Stan huffed, looking grumpy, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed the hunger for a challenge. “What have you kids tried so far? Anything illegal?”

“No.”

“I thought I taught you better.” He mimed looking around. “Still, maybe you have a point. Be a bad idea to get you guys arrested on foreign soil.” He held up one finger, as if making a formal declaration. “Tell you what, I’ll see what I can do about this that you don’t have the know-how for, and you kids keep looking for Ford’s stuff. Just follow the sirens if you hear them.”

The twins were a little disappointed at that, but Pacifica pulled them away, conceding that their grunkle had a point and not wanting to be around if coppers did show up. Dipper was soon placated with the reminder that books were what they were looking for, and Mabel contented herself with the satisfaction of a cheering up well done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's Stan gonna do? You'll have to find out later. *grins maniacally*   
> Sorry it's so short though.


	6. In Which Mabel is Fundamentally Mabel

“Was it just me, or did he shoo us off kinda quickly?”

“He probably didn’t want to embarrass himself if it turned out he couldn’t get it off the ground either.”

“I’m honestly not sure I want to find out if it comes to that. Hey, bookstore!”

They opened the door. And stared.

Dipper thought it looked more like an old lady’s attic than it had any right to. He couldn’t tell from a first glance if there was any system of organization. Mismatched coffee tables rose up from the floor like stalagmites and seemed to be in place for the sole purpose of keeping any unshelved books off the floor. A high ceiling brought the word 'cavernous' to mind, though the shop itself was so crowded with merchandise that the cave imagery ended there. Some stacks were piled so high that they served as excellent blinders for the windows. Random knickknacks were scattered among the shelves, though they looked much more expensive then the sort of stuff found at a place like the Mystery Shack. Dipper would’ve worried about breaking something but the whole place gave an impression of sturdiness that he couldn’t pinpoint the source of.

“Yikes, not looking forward to sorting through that.” Pacifica’s lament broke through his observation haze.

Dipper took a more careful glance around, frowning. His eyes kept seeing curves where his brain was telling him there should be straight lines. The sheer volume of books muddled that effect somewhat, but only brought more attention to the shadows that didn’t seem to be the proper size.

He shook his head a little. Maybe the shop was weird, but if it had what Ford wanted, he could worry about that later. “What’s the matter, your dainty fingers afraid of paper cuts?”

“Are you kidding? With my luck I’ll knock into one of these stacks by accident and start an avalanche. They’ll have to evacuate the whole street. I’ll die from lack of air and my ghost will sue your hat off.”

“Don’t talk like we’re the ones who dragged you into this. You wanna wait outside, be my guest.”

“I think I saw another bookshop down the way. I’ll wait you out there. Mabel, you wanna come with? Mabel?”

“Mabel?” Dipper echoed, upon not hearing an immediate answer. Turning, he found her still in the doorway. Why was she…oh.

Mabel’s eyes only got that big when she wanted to take something small and cute home where she could love it forever. He watched, amused despite himself, as she took a slow step further in, turning on the spot like a peasant girl in an old princess movie. She was even holding her hands out the same way (and did she do that on purpose, or was she just like that?), and her dropped jaw was a solid 10/10 in the awe and wonder categories.

Pacifica was edging away, looking mildly concerned.

“Yeeeah, she’s gonna be here a while,” Dipper drawled. Pacifica threw one more glance around, clearly not finding whatever it was Mabel had found, and ducked back out the door with a small wave. Honestly, Dipper didn’t blame her. Mabel could be intense, and it did look like finding anything in this hoard would be tedious.

He turned again at the sound of unfamiliar footsteps.

“Pardon me, I know the door was open but I was actually just about to-“

“ _I love you shop_.”

Really, Dipper reasoned, anyone would stop in their tracks when confronted with that enthusiasm. He was kinda surprised Mabel had managed to keep her voice down.

“You’re the owner, right? There’s no one else here, and honestly you look like you belong here.” She clasped her hands excitedly, eyes roving over the establishment. “In a castle made of books! And I love all your little statues, they really add a baroque flavor, or maybe it’s rococo I’m thinking of, either way they’re stunning choices. Has anyone ever gotten lost in here? I know it’s not that big from the outside but I feel like I could get lost in here and honestly, I wouldn’t mind. Oh, it feels like I’ve stepped inside a scrapbook!”

Judging by how Mabel’s gushing appeared to be making the astonished man’s day (and she was right, he did seem to fit inside the space in a strangely correct way), she’d been right about him being the owner. Silently as he could on an unfamiliar floor, Dipper edged around them and started looking for anything that might indicate an organization system. If he heard right, and the man had been about to close up shop (really? It was barely after noon) he didn’t know how long a distraction of flattery would last, no matter how enthusiastic or sincere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, finally, the other half of the duo! You'll get a bit more of him next chapter.


	7. In Which There Are No Jumpscares

Mabel’s plan had been to help Dipper look through the books for about ten minutes and then, if he was still occupied, to get bored with that and open up her knitting bag, all while leering smugly at Pacifica over her most recent yarn purchase. The blonde had bet twenty bucks that she couldn’t make something cheerful out of a grey skein, and Mabel was determined to prove her wrong.

Those plans went out the door even before Pacifica did. Mabel wasn’t sure how long she and the owner had been conversing, but a mug of cocoa had made it’s way into her hand at some point, and she hadn’t even glanced at her bag. Who even knew how Dipper was progressing at this point.

This whole thing started because, as it turned out, this really nice old guy didn’t actually know what she meant when she talked about scrapbooking, and that was just a travesty. So she took it upon herself to share the many joys of fuzzy stickers and shiny ribbon, the pros and cons of bullet journals, the best types of glue for the job, and a broad, carefully-not-personal overview of the therapeutic benefits of recording one’s memories in this way. This led to a discussion on book restoration, and Mabel was surprised to discover that it wasn’t nearly as dry and dusty a job as she had assumed. Actually, there was a respectable amount of glue involved, though not nearly as much tape, and Mabel was of the opinion that wearing gloves took all the magic out of something like this, though she didn’t say so. Still, she had to admit that the old guy (“Mr. Fell, please”) did marvelous work, if the couple of volumes he pulled out to show off were any indication. Some of those covers had patterns a scrapbooker would murder for, so good on him for making sure they lasted.

(The shop door might’ve opened, but Mr. Fell was too absorbed in the conversation, so Mabel didn’t bother breaking it off to check and see if it was Pacifica coming back.)

Mabel did rethink the glove thing, though, when she got a better look as Mr. Fell’s nails. She had to admit, she wouldn’t want to ruin a manicure like that either. And his hands looked so soft, he probably needed the extra insurance against paper cuts. She was about to ask him if he had ever treated his hands to a milk bath, when-

“WAUGH!”

Mr. Fell jumped in his seat, turning toward the cry. “Good heavens! What was that?”

Now, Mabel had lived with her brother for his entire life, so she had gotten pretty familiar with the sound of his yells. There was almost a subtle art in distinguishing them. Dipper’s yell of absolute terror had become unmistakable in her mind, having heard it so often their first summer in Gravity Falls.

This was not it.

This was the yell of sudden surprise, which could’ve been caused by anything from an unexpected wrinkle in the rug to a girl asking him out. At any rate, it wasn’t followed by the sound of hurried footfalls, or shouts for her to run as well, or any more noise at all, actually.

So all she did was say “Oh, that’s just Dipper being Dipper, it’s not a big deal.”

Mr. Fell looked askance at that, so she figured there wasn’t any harm in calling out a quick “You doing alright in there, bro?”

“Good! Everything’s good! Just…fine. Over here.”

He mumbled indistinguishably, thought she caught something along the lines of “crazy” and “lucky I didn’t drop any of these.” Ah, so he had found some books, at least.

Mr. Fell seemed to brace himself internally, before rising and making his way to the counter as Dipper stumbled out from between shelves, sending a rather chagrined glance back the way he had emerged. “Hey, uh, Sir? Do you have a rental policy? I didn’t bring enough money for all of these, and it doesn’t look like you have a photocopier…uh…”

Mabel could feel herself start to zone out when the haggling started (Dipper just didn’t have the same stage presence as Stan, and no offense to Mr. Fell, but neither did he), so she contented herself with scoping out what had startled her twin. 

Some might say that the trick to dealing with the unknown, is to expect anything, and then nothing will truly surprise you. A less discussed technique is to expect something extremely specific; that way, either you’re right on the money, or so wrong that you must take a minute to process. Either way, you avoid getting startled. Mabel had experience with both, and decided to go with the latter as she peered around the shelf. Two beady eyes met hers.

Aw, it wasn’t a ghost. Bummer.

Still cute, though, even if it was bigger than she might’ve expected for the space, and totally clashed with the homey professor-y aesthetic Mr. Fell had going.

Mabel smiled. She was just reaching out to boop it when she heard her brother calling her name. So she contented herself with a wave, rushing out the door with an enthusiastic goodbye to Mr. Fell.

“So he wouldn’t let me rent these,” Dipper reported, eyeing a pocket-sized notebook as the door latched shut behind them. “But I got him to hold them for me, so I’m gonna tell Ford that I’ll come back tomorrow and just copy anything relevant by hand.” He scoffed. "Kinda stingy if you ask me."

“I thought he was nice,” she retorted, but absently. She glanced back at the shop.

“What? You leave something in there?”

Mabel shook her head, grinning. “I’ve figured out what I’m going to knit outta that grey.”

* * *

“Was that really necessary, dear?”

“Ease up will ya, angel? It’s been an unusual day.”

“If he had dropped any of those books he was holding, I would’ve had to get rather cross with the both of you.”

“Yeah, right, sorry, I’ve got it, won’t happen again. No more scaring patrons while they’re holding expensive volumes.”

“Well. I hope you had your fun.”

“Eh. It’s not really as fun if I’m not in a form that can laugh about it.”

“So how were things at the café? Did anyone manage to unstick it this time?”

“Oh, bugger me.”

“At this hour? It’s hardly evening yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about this! School has started again so I can't promise frequent or even regular updates. I'm still plugging away though.


End file.
